the designer plate plastered across the top of the bag, he remembered seeing the same kind in a Fifth Avenue window, a purse his sister had pointed out. Three thousand bucks. Enough to pay for Connor’s braces, Ella’s much begged for dance classes, or remodeling the bathroom with safety gear for his Alzheimer’s-afflicted mother.
Pick a bill, any bill, he’d often thought, after his father had died ten years ago and Aiden started struggling to keep the family and their business afloat as the eldest of seven children. Sometimes it seemed like he was the one drowning; his feverish, crazy work schedule was all that kept him and his family above water.
The woman blinked up at him with wet-spiked lashes and the sudden flash of blue eyes knocked the wind out of him. “I need to dry off.” Or at least he thought that was what she said. She slurred slightly, enough to make him wonder how many bars she’d visited before wandering into his. Uptown girls didn’t usually venture into a small operation like the White Horse.
“This is the place for it.” He helped her to a wooden bar stool, the dampness of her coat seeping through his shirt and slacks.
She blew her nose and swiped at the water dripping down her cheeks. “I look like a drowned rat.” Was it his imagination, or were there tears in her eyes? He’d seen plenty of people weep into their cups at his tavern, one of the many reasons he never imbibed himself. Yet her sorrow looked deeper than that.
“Here.” He handed over a bar towel and squinted at her. “And you don’t resemble a rat. A cat maybe,” he mumbled to himself, then clamped his lips shut. What an idiot. “I’m Aiden.” He flicked his eyes her way, but she seemed lost in her own world, running the cloth over her hair and face. In her state, she’d never remember what he said.
“I’m Rebecca. So how do I look then?” She shoved back her hair and peered at him with questioning eyes.
Under the soft glow of the antique light fixtures, her skin gleamed, her heart-shaped face prettier than he’d first thought. Her small nose flared above a mobile mouth with a generous upper lip. And those eyes. He couldn’t look away from them. “Fine,” he blurted, then hustled behind the bar.
“Loose lips sink ships,” his grandmother had always said. And his life was already the Titanic. He needed distance from his new customer. She was short-circuiting his brain, one already over-taxed with handling his chaotic family and hectic business.
He had no room in his life, or thoughts, for romance. Letting himself imagine otherwise was a fool’s path he’d gotten lost on once before. He’d never risk it again. But a lost girl caught in the rain had a way of making a lonely man dream.
He pulled out two mugs and filled them with coffee, a warm mist washing over him as he poured the black brew. Rebecca needed the wake-up before he settled her in a cab heading for home and out of his complicated life.
“How do you take your coffee?” He passed a mug her way and reached into the mini fridge below for the milk.
“Caramel and whipped cream.”
His chin slammed into the bar edge. “What?”
When she shook her head, a long lock of hair fell across her high forehead. Fetching.
“Something sweet then.”
He pushed a sugar jar her way. “Help yourself.”
“I’m trying.” Her words came out in a half sob, half laugh.
He threw back a gulp of the bitter brew and burned his throat. How long had that pot been sitting? Mary Ann usually came down after tucking in their siblings and changed it before heading home on the weekends. But he hadn’t seen her in hours. And he could use her right now. Rebecca looked seconds away from inviting him to her pity party and he had no intentions of RSVP’ing.
She leaned over and slurped from her overflowing mug, the quantity of milk and sugar she’d added making it spill on the newly wiped counter. She wasn’t kidding about wanting a fancy concoction. Where she came from, they probably served it on a china saucer instead of a soaked cocktail napkin. The light gleamed on her golden hair as she straightened and suppressed a grimace with pressed lips.
“Tastes good. I work in a coffee shop. The Koffee Kat. Have you heard of it?”
“I’ve seen it. Nice place.” Aiden switched off the coffeepot and grabbed a cleaning rag for the counter.
He stopped wiping the spill when Rebecca’s narrow shoulders sagged and she set down her cup. “The owners are moving to Florida. They’re like family to me. Now I’ll have no one.”
Her lonely expression softened him. Being surrounded by a large family—barraged by them, really—didn’t stop him from feeling alone, too. “What about your relatives? Friends?” He cleared his throat. “Boyfriend?”
Her laugh sounded as bitter as the coffee. “A boyfriend. Hah. That’d be the day.”
The weird tightness in Aiden’s chest loosened and he released a breath. He needed to get a grip. Her dating status was none of his business.
Rebecca brought her arm up to her mouth and coughed into it. “Laura’s gone, so that takes care of my close friends list. And as for my family...well...they’re, uh, not around much.”
He hung a mug and looked at the downcast woman, his sympathy about her family turning to guilt. Was this how his relatives viewed him? But to fill his father’s big shoes, he had to work sixteen hour days, seven days a week...and even that didn’t seem enough. How had his father managed the business and family so effortlessly?
“I’m sure lots of people care.” Aiden began lining up the wineglasses on a mirror-backed shelf, his gaze drifting to the beautiful woman’s reflection. “They just might be busy. Not have time to show it.” He peered into her eyes, then looked away, her sun-ray smile piercing his closed-off heart.
“‘How’s your day’ takes only a minute to ask.” She began sorting the remaining glasses on the counter according to size. “Maybe a couple more to listen to the answer.”
Aiden plucked a few mugs from the drier and stacked them below the bar. She had a point...only where to find those precious minutes when work demanded every second?
“At least you care,” she continued. “No one’s listened to me since my roommate Laura left.” Her brow furrowed and her smile vanished. “But that’s your job, right? To listen? So... I’ll take a—a beer.”
She swiped at her nose, then twisted her hands together atop the counter. With her eyelids drooping after drinking half a cup of coffee, she must be more intoxicated than he’d thought. And it looked like she was fighting a whopping cold. “I don’t think that’s for the best, ma’am.”
Her jaw clenched. “You said you were still open.” She glanced up at the wall clock, then pulled out a twenty.
He leaned forward. “My bar, my rules.” She might be used to giving orders wherever she came from, but this was his world.
“But the customer’s always right.” Her unsteady squeak tugged at him.
“When the patron acts appropriately.”
Suddenly her face contorted. “I just need to talk. Please.”
For
